An introduction to being

What does it actually mean to 'be'?

We use the word being constantly. 'I'm a human being'. 'Being happy is important'. 'What is the meaning of being?' The word feels solid, familiar—like a rock we can stand on. But when we pause and actually look at it, something strange happens. The rock begins to dissolve.

What does it actually mean to be?

Philosophers have wrestled with this question for over two and a half thousand years. Some have argued that being is a fixed substance—a stable, unchanging essence that things possess. Others have insisted that being is pure change—a constant flow that never settles. Still others have claimed that being is not a thing at all, but a relation, a process, a becoming.

This article offers one answer to that question. It is not the only answer, nor the final one. It is an invitation to think, to question, and to see being with fresh eyes.

A Brief History of Being

The story of being begins in ancient Greece, where the first philosophers staked out opposing positions.

On one side stood Parmenides. He argued that true Being was one, unchanging, and indivisible. Change and difference, he claimed, were illusions of the senses. Reality, for Parmenides, was a perfect, static sphere—eternal, complete, and beyond all motion.

On the other side stood Heraclitus. He insisted that reality was pure flux—a 'fire' kindling and extinguishing in measures. 'You cannot step into the same river twice', he said, because the river is always new. For Heraclitus, change was not an illusion but the very essence of existence.

These two views established the fundamental tension that has shaped Western philosophy ever since. Is being static or dynamic? Is it a noun or a verb?

For centuries, the Western tradition leaned toward Parmenides. Aristotle anchored being in substance—the individual entity, like a man or a tree, with its essential properties. This view was powerful and intuitive, but it struggled to explain change, relation, and consciousness. If being is a fixed substance, how does it grow? How does it relate to others? How does it think?

The modern period intensified these problems. Descartes grounded being in thinking—'I think, therefore I am'—but in doing so, he split reality into two incompatible substances: mind and matter. Kant then argued that we can never know the 'thing-in-itself', only the world as it appears through our mental categories. Being, for Kant, was inseparable from relation to the knower.

The 20th century saw a rebellion against substance. Alfred North Whitehead argued that reality is composed not of things, but of events and processes. For Whitehead, being was unequivocally becoming. Postmodern thinkers like Derrida and Deleuze pushed further, dissolving the very idea of a stable, self-identical being into a web of differences and multiplicities.

This brief history reveals a gradual but decisive shift: from being as a noun (substance) to being as a verb (process). But the question remains unresolved. Is being static or dynamic? Is it substance or relation? Or is it something else entirely?

A Different Way to See It

Consider the etymology of the word being.

It comes from the Old English bēon, meaning 'to be'. The present participle is being—literally, the 'action to be'. Being, in its deepest sense, is not a noun at all. It is a verb. It is action. It is process.

This is a startling idea. It suggests that being is not a thing you have or are. It is something you do. It is an ongoing, never-finished act of becoming.

Think about a tree. We call it a tree, as if it were a single, finished object. But a tree is never finished. It is roots drinking from the earth, leaves catching the light, sap flowing through unseen channels. If any of these actions stopped, the tree would cease to be a tree. The tree is not a noun pretending to be a verb. It is a verb we have mistakenly labelled a noun.

The same is true of you. You are not a static object that stays the same forever. Every cell in your body is in constant motion. Your thoughts change. Your habits change. Your relationships change. You are not a fixed 'self' that endures through time. You are a continuous action—a process of becoming that never takes a break.

You are a verb, pretending to be a noun.

Being and Relation

If being is action, then it never happens in isolation.

Think about it. Can you be completely alone? Even in solitude, you are related to the air you breathe, the ground beneath you, the memories you carry. You are co-constituted through your relations. Who you are depends on who you are with.

This is a profound insight. It suggests that being is not a solo performance. It is a conference—a bearing together of what would otherwise be apart.

Consider a fire. It is not a single thing. It is a meeting of wood, heat, and oxygen. If any of these parts left the meeting, the fire would vanish. The fire is not a substance. It is a process of relating.

The same pattern recurs at every scale. An atom is not a tiny billiard ball. It is a dynamic excitation of a field. A solar system is not a collection of static objects. It is a stabilized process of gravitational collapse and orbital velocity. A thought is not a thing. It is a meeting of chemical signals and electrical impulses across a neural network.

Being, at every level, is a conference of difference—a dynamic bearing together of diverse elements that, through their meeting, create something new.

This view resonates with Heraclitus (being as flux), Hegel (being as dialectical process), and Whitehead (being as process and relation). But it also moves beyond them. It offers a unified principle that applies to all beings, at every scale, from quantum fields to conscious minds.

The Illusion of Time

If being is a process, then time takes on a different meaning.

We usually think of time as a container—a river in which we float from past to future. But what if time is not a container at all? What if it is a construct—a map we create to navigate the conference of difference?

Consider this. The past is not a place you can visit. It is a memory—a reconstruction of what has already happened. The future is not a destination you can travel to. It is a prediction—a prognostication of what might happen. Both are formulated in the present.

The only place where being actually happens is the present. Every experience you have ever had occurred in a 'now'. Every experience you will ever have will also occur in a 'now'. You are always standing at the living edge of the present.

This is not a trivial observation. It means that space and time are not fundamental containers. They are navigational aids—cognitive tools that allow beings to map their conference of difference. Space gives you the sense of where. Time gives you the sense of when. Together, they form the coordinate system of the 'navigable present'.

To put it another way: you do not exist in time and space. Time and space exist through you—as perceptual values generated by your conference of difference.

Being and Responsibility

This brings us to a final question.

If being is a process, if it is relational, if it is always in the present—then what does this mean for how we live?

It means we are not isolated selves. We are participants in a vast, ongoing conference of difference. Every action we take ripples through the relational whole. Every choice we make is a gesture of participation—either opening doors or closing them.

It means we are not finished. We are always becoming. The imperfections we carry are not flaws to be eliminated. They are the very grounds of our movement. Without them, we would be static—and to be static is to cease to be.

It means we are not alone. We are always with others—human and non-human, living and non-living—all of whom are also involved in their own processes of becoming. Our existence is co-constituted with theirs.

And it means the present is the only site of action. The past is gone. The future is not yet. All we have is this moment—and in this moment, we can choose how to bear together with what is different from us.

This is not an easy way to live. It requires humility, courage, and a willingness to remain open to new knowing. But it is also liberating. It frees us from the burden of certainty, the pursuit of perfection, and the illusion of isolation.

A Question to Sit With

We began with questions. We will end with one.

If being is the action of becoming—an ongoing, relational, never-finished process—then your existence is not a possession. It is a participation.

The philosophers of old asked: What is the nature of being?

Perhaps the answer begins here: Being is the action to be—and to be is to bear together with what is different, in the living present, without final completion.

Here is the question to carry with you:

What are you bearing together with, right now, in this present moment? And what would it mean to participate more fully?

The Gospel of Being

by John Mackay

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